You, maple syrup on your pancakes chose?
From groves of sugar maples sap doth run
It climbs, it seeps, into the pipes it goes
And boils down, fills barrels one by one
And where should all this happen but Quebec?
Ful sev’nty-two percent doth come from there
From maple groves and processes high-tech
The syrup seepeth, sticky, through the air
Directly comes to you this sticky vice?
Forbid! FPAQ controls, with rules and guile,
Supply, and thereby too the highest price,
They have a national and sweet stockpile
But one fine day, inspectors passing through
Found common liquid clear in every cell!
O! Water had replaced their precious brew!
In climbing barrels, made too light, they fell.
A search began, for who would do this? Why?
Without this nectar, all our pancakes dry.